


Like Smoke and Ash

by dearestones (Devin_Trinidad)



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: As requested on Tumblr, F/M, Stalking behavior, Tumblr request, Yandere, Yandere character, slight victim blaming, yandere behavior, yandere! masky, yandere! masky x reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 21:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devin_Trinidad/pseuds/dearestones
Summary: “Hey, you’re not supposed to be smoking here.”You keep your voice quiet, making sure to keep yourself as soothing as possible. As much as you would like to tell off this person who was blowing faint plumes of smoke in an area often frequented by children and the elderly, you reasoned that you should still remain polite. In a world that was heavily influenced by the negative side of life, it seemed far more prudent to approach this situation with a calm, but firm hand.As you finger the hem of your shirt, waiting for the man’s response, you take in this stranger.
Relationships: Masky (Creepypasta)/Reader
Kudos: 16





	Like Smoke and Ash

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous Request: Hey I've been reading your stuff and I really like it, and I was wondering if I could have a yandere masky x fem reader if you want too I'd love to see what you come up with

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be smoking here.” 

You keep your voice quiet, making sure to keep yourself as soothing as possible. As much as you would like to tell off this person who was blowing faint plumes of smoke in an area often frequented by children and the elderly, you reasoned that you should still remain polite. In a world that was heavily influenced by the negative side of life, it seemed far more prudent to approach this situation with a calm, but firm hand. 

As you finger the hem of your shirt, waiting for the man’s response, you take in this stranger. 

In a small town such as the one you live in, it’s easy to see who have long since integrated into the environment and those who just happened to wander inside. From the way he dresses to the way he stands quite close to the shop door, you can tell that he’s used to towns like these, but isn’t actually a person you know from afar. His dark brown eyes are almost obscured by the half lidded look and his lips are downturned in what you can call a frown. 

He still hasn’t put out his cigarette. 

You ponder getting closer to this guy—perhaps you hadn’t been loud enough—but you immediately shut that thought down. Again, this was a man you had never seen before. A complete stranger. 

You already said your peace and fulfilled your “good deed” quota of the day. If someone from inside the hop was going to complain next, then so be it. It was no skin off your shoulders if this man got reamed. 

You shrug your shoulders, somewhat dissatisfied with the lack of response, but ultimately ready to put this conversation behind you. As you start to back away and head towards your intended destination, the man addresses you. 

“You ever tried smoking before?”

You shrug your shoulders. 

“I don’t plan on smoking here, sir.” You turn around and decide to go now. As you hurriedly cross the street, you don’t notice the man’s eyes trail after you… or that his cigarette dangles out of his mouth as the smoke dances into the air.

* * *

This next time you see the man, you’re passing by the local playground. Children are rolling around in the sandbox while a few push each other on the swings. As your eyes peruse the scene, you see that there is a man sitting on a nearby bench that overworked moms and elderly people use. 

Your eyes pass over him, but it isn’t until he calls out to you that you realize that you know this man. You stare at him, almost confused as to why he was calling you over. Even though it’s pretty early in the afternoon and you’re surrounded by the whoops and hollers of young children, a chill goes up and down your spine. There’s this sense of danger that was somewhat present the last time you had seen him, but now, it seems far more palpable.

More noticeable.

You don’t want to engage this man in conversation.

“I, uh…” You begin to say, only to be sidelined as the man pats the seat beside him. Hesitant, you step within a five foot distance between the two of you. Distant enough to retain the boundaries that establish the fact that you’re still stranger, but close enough so that you’re not yelling in order to effectively converse. “You’re… you’re not smoking now.”

The man shrugs, obviously not caring in the least.

“Kids are here, can’t do that, ya know?” There’s a gentle twang to his tone—Southern, you note. Definitely not around from where you live, but that’s what makes the situation all the more tense for you. So far, the man has done nothing to actually garner your distrust, but the way he’s looking at you now…

His dark brown eyes, a color that you would often associate with warmth and kindness speak to you on a different level. It’s a language that you know, but not entirely familiar with. It’s dark and cold and makes you squirm when you feel his gaze rake over you. It sends a shiver down your spine because despite the meaning that you’d rather not acknowledge, you know that this man isn’t good news. 

You don’t know how you know, you just know.

You remain silent, not wanting to continue this conversation.

“Kids…” The man leans back, almost too comfortable in your presence, as if he’s feeding off your nervous energy as you try to relax the tightening and coiling of your muscles, of the sweat that begins to trail down your neck. “They’re precious, kind. It’s a travesty of what’s happening nowadays.”

A part of you wants to agree.

Another part of you demands to know how he knows about the disappearance of a couple of kids only a few weeks ago. 

But, of course, common sense tells you that even if the man is a stranger, that doesn’t mean he can’t go around asking people for the news…

Although, you shudder to think in what conversation and context this man just happens to be given the information that kids have gone missing. 

“Yeah,” you reply with uncertainty. “I’m actually surprised that the playground is packed as it is.”

The man shrugged, his eyes carefree and dismissive as he glances at the screaming toddlers near the monkey bars. 

“It’s not at all that surprising, to be honest.” His eyes flick towards you, interest renewed and you felt your heart blanch. “Lots of people would like to ignore bad things that are happening until they actually happen to them.”

You nod once. 

“Yeah,” you laugh in a way to seem polite, but with the forcefulness that could only highlight the awkwardness present in this conversation. There was only so much that you could get away with and if you managed to leave with a roiling pit of embarrassment in your stomach, then you could call it a win. “People can be…”

“Stupid?” The man barked out a laugh before suddenly standing up. “That’s the word you’re looking for, right?”

At your hesitant nod, the man gave you an approving grin. However, it was tight lipped and his eyes were faintly narrowed.

Honestly, it felt like he was trying to bare his teeth, but had the good sense to cover up. 

Menacing.

This man was menacing.

“A-anyway,” you tried to edge away from the man, this time fully dead set on leaving. The distance between the two of you felt so much shorter than what you had thought previous. Any closer and… you didn’t want to think about it. “I’ve gotta go.”

The man studied you for a second before nodding slowly. 

“Careful,” he murmured softly so that you had to strain your ears in order to hear it, “that you don’t end up like those kids. Ya hear?”

That Southern twang again.

Once upon a time, you would have thought that such an accent would have been welcoming and warm.

From him, it sounded a lot like a threat. 

* * *

You see him more and more often. 

Sometimes, it’s on your way to the store.

Other times, you’re wandering alone outside in want of exercise.

You think nothing of it.

At first.

And then… then you notice that he’s always standing near the periphery of your vision. Sometimes, he stands loitering in some private area with a cigarette dangling precariously from calloused fingers. Other times, he stands with his hands tucked deep into his pockets.

A part of you wonders who he is.

The part of you that prides itself on logic and rationality tells you to stay away from him.

And you try.

By God, you try.

It’s late at night when you see him again. 

You’re walking back to your house, keys already ready, and your ears straining for sound. After having gone through the experience of going back home under the cover of night, you know the routine. 

Keep your eyes peeled, your muscles tased and coiled. 

Stay alert.

Pay attention.

As you step up to your door and your key finally starts adjusting towards the tumblers inside of the lock, you relax.

Minutely.

That was your first mistake. 

The next mistake was when you hesitated when you felt a cold wind pass behind your neck, the delicate hairs on your skin rising in apprehension. 

Your third mistake is when you drop your keys.

As you bend down, you feel a presence behind you. Heart stuttering to a stop, you whirl around with your fist immediately in the air ready to attack. For any other person, perhaps your fist would have connected. However, that was simply not the case.

No, your fist was caught by a hand that was connected to the man that you didn’t want to see. 

“What—?”

“You know,” the man muttered as he twisted your arm in a way that had you bending over so that you could avoid feeling pain. “This is all your fault. What’s going to happen to you, I mean.”

“What are you talking about?” You try to shake your arm free, but only managed to get your arm twisted at an angle so that if he were to add more pressure, it would surely snap. 

The man shrugged, his dark brown eyes looking at you with a menacing leer. 

“I warned you, didn’t I? Don’t end up like those kids?” He shook his head as if he were a parent disappointed in an unruly child for not following the rules. “Well, it turns out you’re just as stupid as the parents.”

He leaned in close—so close that you could smell the nicotine from his breath.

“But hey, maybe you’ll end up enjoying my company once we’re alone.”

And then, my vision went black. 

  
  



End file.
